


An Evening of Vulgarity

by Maaedaae



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, F/M, Inopportune flirting, Other, Suffer for Fashion, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), Vivienne is a beast, Who fights in a pretty dress?, mage party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 09:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10273808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maaedaae/pseuds/Maaedaae
Summary: Dresses and demons just do not mix.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little one-off that takes place during the major garden “battle” in Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts. I always wondered why level designers never put female members of the Inquisition in dresses — especially since they clearly had available art assets. Then it occurred to me that killing things in a dress would be hard. And would probably ruin the dress. Vivienne would hate that. Which made the idea even more awesome.

“Vivienne.” 

 

Even with her back to her, the First Enchanter knew that heartless bitch was smiling, enjoying every moment of her misfortune.

 

“Absolutely not, Inquisitor.” She snapped, eyes glancing from side to side as the ground beneath them pulsated and rippled with eldritch magicks. 

 

“Vivi—”

 

“‘One of a kind’, Inquisitor. Weren’t those my exact words?” Madame de Fer, could not hide the almost pleading edge in her voice. “The world would be diminished—a darker place. I beg you to reconsider.”

 

The courtyard of the Winter Palace echoed with a cacophony of otherworldly shrieks and growls, as four pairs of inhumanely long, taloned claws burst from the surrounding flower beds. Above the demonic noise, she could hear the creak and groan of half a dozen bowstrings pulling taunt.

 

“Vivienne!”

 

The words “I’d rather you die” danced briefly upon her tongue, and for a moment, she felt as though she was floating above her own body. This wasn’t happening. “Maker’s balls!” She cursed. “This is not how you play the Game!”

 

Even as the words left her mouth, her hands were moving. Vivienne was never one to waste time on futile battles. Instead, she won wars. 

 

Closing her eyes, she dipped into the quiet, cool well of her mana. Ebony fingers slid along the familiar notches and grooves of her lyrium-infused staff, and she took a deep breath. Listening to the familiar hum of rod’s subtle magicks, she let her own power trickle through it like a sieve. As her hand neared the end of the staff, the frequencies of the artifact and her own power resonated, singing out in perfect harmony. Her free hand filled with a crackling azure light, fluidly taking the form of a spectral blade.

 

“I never tire of seeing you do that, Madame de Fer” the Inquisitor murmured. The tingling across her forearms told Vivienne that the elf had finished weaving a barrier around them. “As natural as drawing a sword from a sheath. It is very beautiful. It suits you.”

 

Vivienne smiled, in spite of herself.

 

“Flattery will take you very, very far” She said, praising the elf girl. “Now come here before I change my mind, child.”

 

A small hail of arrows ricocheted harmlessly over the the seemly empty air above them. Two demons circled their fortification, occasionally swiping out with a lazy, patient, predatory intelligence. She knew they were taking stock of the barrier—testing every inch of the magical construct for any flaw or failing point in the binding patterns. 

 

She heard the whisper of petticoats, and the quiet sound of the other woman cursing. Makers breath — that stupid girl had tripped on the dress _again_. Moments later, the dalish apostate’s back was pressed to her own. 

 

With one final sigh of regret, the senior enchantress reached behind her with the blade, deftly hacking away layers of cloth in sharp, precise movements. “Maker, forgive me” she trilled, casting aside the material. “And you had looked so lovely in that dress, darling.” 

 

The sound of ripping fabric continued, even after she had finished the loathsome task. In a moment of startling clarity, Vivienne felt the kiss of the night air upon her own knees and calves. She turned her head sharply. 

 

Like a small child, the Inquisitor smiled at her sheepishly while tucking a dagger back into a scandalously positioned thigh holster. “What? I can’t have you falling over yourself, either.”

 

All Vivienne could manage was a small, strangled cry of rage.

 

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” The wicked thing promised her. 

 

Somewhere behind them, she heard the snicker-snack of lightening, and the hiss and pop as it connected with an unseen foe. She also heard something else — something far more terrible than the din of battle or demon song;quiet, subdued laugher—familiar laugher. 

 

“Solas, _dear_ , Do you require assistance?” She took pleasure in holding the term of familiarity between her teeth, letting her tongue sharpen syllables until each cut like a dagger. 

 

“Forgive me, Enchanter” called the other elf. “but I believe that was the first time I’ve heard you speak in vulgarities.” 

 

With a predatory cry of triumph, one of the demons slammed a gnarled fist through the barrier.

Vivienne didn’t hesitate. Like silk, she moved. Spinning forward, she extended an arm and struck with an imperceptible flick of her wrist. The demon’s arm bounced and rolled across the lush, springy grass, coming to rest at her feet.

 

“This has been an evening of vulgarity.” She sniffed, kicking the discarded appendage with a booted heel. “A rare and enjoyable night, positively ruined.”

 

Inquisitor Lavellan had once again closed the distance and had begun the task of transforming the barrier’s breach into a a tactical asset. Vivienne’s stomach churned as the air around her filled with that strange fade magic that the two apostates seemed to love. She watched men and demons alike struggle as they were pulled bodily towards the green, pulsating light that crackled above them. Seconds later, a roaring column of flame poured through the breach, causing the barrier to shatter. The night air was filled with a new kind of screaming and the smell of burning flesh

 

“So they ruined your night out.” Lavellan pantedas she smothered several errant embers from her once lovely gown. “Pay them back tenfold.”

 

Vivienne stared the scorch marks for a brief moment, lips pursed, expression aghast. Gradually, a small, wicked smile spread across the older woman’s face.

 

“Oh my dear, I absolutely intend to.” she said in a tone that was honey, silk and poison. Then, she simply vanished into a shimmering haze. 

 

Moments later, a new chorus ofmayhem and death could be heard from the mezzanine above the remaining group. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“She is going to kill me.” The Inquisitor marveled as she leaned against her staff and gazed upwards. “No one will ever find my body.”

 

Behind her, she could feel Solas teasing power from the rift above them. He muttered something and she watched as the the final demon was lifted bodily into the air, limbs splayed like those of a marionette.

 

“You are being, perhaps, a tad melodramatic, _Vehnan_.“ Solas told her as he slammed his staff into the ground for the final time. With a wet, solid sound, the demon smashed several inches into the earth. It wailed in rage and pain. The staff twisted into the dirt. Bones snapped. The screaming stopped. But she wasn’t listening to that. She could hear the smile in his voice. She had come to love the sound — it made her chest tighten; made her want to coax it from him again and again.

 

She shook her head, pushing the thought away. Butterflies on the battlefield. These were truly strange days.

 

“Leliana is very good at finding things.” Cole reminded her. He knelt before her, collecting the scraps of discarded dress with what could only be described as reverence. 

 

She had almost forgotten about the little spirit—but that hardly surprised her anymore. 

_People didn’t often see Compassion in battles,_ she mused internally. _They just felt it._ She glanced at the the daggers fastened to the the boy’s back. Their sheaths were slick with blood. She was positive it wasn’t his own. _One way or another._

 

Shit, _that was good_. Varric’s self-narrations must’ve been rubbing off on her. She made a mental note to share that little gem with him.

 

“Her arms are warm. Lips on my forehead. ‘In the right dress, you can bring the world to attention, child.’ Skin and lace and pearls — snow and shadows.”Cole whispered in his familiar singsong tone. His fingers lovingly traveled over a piece of complex stitch work. “The dress comes with her, at the bottom of the chest, buried like treasure. She wears it when the sky is darkest — it helps her shine.”

 

When the boy finally looked upwards, his pale, unearthly stare met the amber-gold gaze of his leader. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted in an expression of horror. 

 

“Wh—what-why?” she managed to squeak, one hand outstretched, grasping for the boy. “ _Ma ghilana mir din’an_! (1) Why the fuck am I wearing this? Who would ever trust me in this?! _Fenedhis_!” 

 

Dropping her staff, the elf rushed forward, firmly clasping the boy by the shoulders. He blinked in surprise, but did not attempt to break from her hold. 

 

“Cole. Ca—can you make her forget?” She stammered, shaking him lightly with each word. “Y—You should make her forget. Right now.”

 

“Yes, but…” the boy breathed “you said I shouldn’t do that sort of thing without permission.”

 

The young woman grimaced. Her narrow shoulders sagged slightly. “I am an idiot.” She finally declared, the firmness in her voice not at all matching her posture. “You should never listen to me. Also, you should make me forget, while you’re at it.” 

 

Brow furrowed, eyes searching, the odd child stared intently at her.

 

“I am very confused.” He admitted.

 

And then suddenly, Solas was behind them. Coughing politely, he interjected himself into the tangle of frantic conversation. 

 

“Cole, he began, his voice a soothing salve on the situation “the Inquisitor is under duress. It would be wise to forgo action until she has…regained her composure.” He looked pointedly at the young woman. She flushed from the tips of her ears to the soles of her feet. 

 

“Solas is right, Cole.” She said. “I am sorry. I didn—“

 

“ _Vhenan,_ ” the older elf interrupted, placing a guiding hand on the small of her back. “the rift.”

 

She glanced upwards at the throbbing verdant vortex hanging above their heads. 

 

“Oh.” she sighed. “Right. That.” 

 

He turned her gently, his hand never breaking contact. 

 

Planting her feet, Inquisitor Lavellan blew an errant ivory strand of hair from her face and lifted her arm skyward. Humming softly under her breath, she closed her eyes, focusing her will and intent. There was a sharp, echoing crack of shattering atmosphere, and her hand began to pulsate with the same light and power as that of the anomaly above them. 

 

Even to the magically untrained eye, it was obvious that something was happening. Initially, the two distinct points of fade magick beatand shone with a discordant,arrhythmic tempo. However, in mere seconds, the rift above the garden began mimic the flashes and bursts emanating from the woman’s hand. The pace increased and the air became ionized, electric. 

 

* * *

 

 

Vivienne watched silently from the stairs. Her dark eyes were bright; her expression, unreadable. It was not the impossible magic that held her attention. At this point, she had seen the miraculous display enough times for it to have become almost commonplace. Instead, she stared with great interest at the casual intimacy of a man’s touch upon a woman’s back. 

 

As the closure of the fade crescendoed, she watched the older elf lean down, his lips pressed to the Inquisitor’s ear as he whispered something to her. Although Vivienne could not hear the words over the cacophony of reality being righted, she clearly saw the effect. The young woman laughed brightly, her face flushed with concentration and…something else. 

 

The rift exploded, in a sudden, deafening crack of energy. Motes of green, incandescent magic floated through the air, twinkling out after several quiet moments.

 

_Interesting_ the Enchantress thought as she began her descent, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her heels clicked against the stone in staccato snaps of sound. _Very interesting._

**Author's Note:**

> 1: **Ma ghilana mir din’an!:** "Guide me into death."


End file.
